In The Darkling Woods
by crimewaves
Summary: A re envisionment of the fight between Jace, Isabelle and Sebastian at the end of book 3. With more violence, drama and awesome. Oneshot. Not for the faint hearted...


**Disclaimer**- I own nothing. Leave me be.

**Summary**- Remember the fight scene towards the end of City Of Glass, where Jace gets his arse kicked by Sebastian/Jonathon, and Isabelle swoops in and rescues him before getting her arse kicked, so Jace has to save the day? Well, that always disapointed me because I thought that Claire was just using it as another excuse to showcase the power of his love for Clary, and I've always been adamant that Sebastian should have been Isabelle's, because he killed Max on her watch and almost destroyed her. So I rewrote the scene, because that just really bothered me.

In this one the fight is dragged out, (hopefully) injected with plenty of awesome and Isabelle gets her chance for revenge. There's also some elaberation on her tracking down Jace, but mainly it's fighting. You've been warned. Oh, and I suppose there are trace amounts of Isabelle/Jace but I don't ship them. I don't ship anyone in Mortal Instruments, this was more because only the characters of Jace, Isabelle and Sebastian are focused on here, and she has an emotional link to Jace which is emphasized by the bloody fight she has with the other character. Ah, happy times.

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**_In The Darkling Woods _**

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Isabelle wasn't scared. She crept through the trees and shadows silently, the dancing shards of moonlight and swaying branches casting strange shapes about the forest floor. She ignored them, breathing in the cold air deeply; the knuckles of her hand tight and tense as she gripped the handle of her whip.

Jace had fled a while ago, on a suicide mission to kill his father and-she couldn't let him do that. Not anymore. Before it had been fine, before it had been understandable. He had stood in the shadowed eaves of the creaking house with darkness dripping from his fringe and shading his eyes to a dark bronze shade, and he had said tonelessly that he had to kill him, Valentine, his father. Isabelle hadn't protested; she wanted to come with him, feeling the hate burn up in her veins and the dark thoughts gather along the front of her skull. He wasn't the only one who had been hurt by this. He wasn't the only one to have illusions shattered and a heart broken and something (_Max_...) taken from them, leaving them alone with nothing but their dripping tears and bitter memories and shame, shame at themselves, shame because they should have been better, if they were better, maybe this wouldn't have happened...

He hadn't let her come.

Her face had spasmed briefly before hardening, and she had turned so he didn't see the expression of anger and hatred that settled across it like dust. Her knuckles had gone white, and her throat felt so heavy and tight and painful. Bad thoughts spluttered inside her mind, and she knew that her eyes were altogether too dark. She also knew they always would be, and that her gaze was never going to soften and lighten- she finally achieved the level of intensity that Alec could convey with one sharp glance. Shame it was in this situation. Her mouth wobbled as it contained as a laugh or a sob, and that's when his hand had descended on her shoulder, spinning her to face him before she could jerk away. He looked her straight in the eye, and lay his hand against the side of her face gently, telling her in a hushed tone that was deader than before, but somehow more full of expression _that he wasn't doing this for revenge. He __was stopping Valentine because somebody had to, and it seemed he was the only one who could. If he could escape this he would, but there was nowhere else to go, and this, this madness had to end._ His eyes and voice had hardened then, hand straying to her hair and sweeping it out of her eyes. He had continued with- _He won't be there, you know. Sebastian's a bastard, a complete and utter bastard, and he'll be prowling the streets, looking for victims, for the weak ones, because that's what monsters like him do. They prey on helpless things to feel good. Isabelle, you have to do what they say- the kids...they're going to be all on their one, and you have, have to protect them. Somebody has to, and I know you can._

He had turned and left then, leaving her with her hand lingering in mid air as though still reaching for him, and her blue eyes wide. Something like disgust curled in her throat- blackmail, he had emotionally blackmailed her into staying, and she had wanted to help. With a flash of rage, she wondered why only he and Clary were allowed to do things. Was it because they were special? Of course it was- Clary already acted like she was a saint because she had these powers fall into her lap, the answers to their problems handed to her by her blood. And Jace, apparently, was allowed to do all sorts of dangerous things, because he was oh so heartbroken and tragic and heroic. She had stormed out in something dangerously like a child's fit of rage, and she didn't feel bad about it at all.

The anger had only simmered over the following hours, seeped deeper into her flesh and she walked everywhere with curling lips and flaring nostrils and blazing eyes that made even older Shadowhunters nervous. They kept approaching her, tapping on her shoulder and advising her not to be rash; that victory would be theirs soon, and she could help in a smaller ways if she wished. She hadn't commented. She'd just watched them silently before walking off.

It was only later that it had changed drastically. Simon. He'd approached her on Clary's orders, chatting easily, as though he was discussing the news when really he was altering her entire view and plan and feelings. Jace was not Valentine's son: he was a Herondale by birth, and he and Clary weren't brother and sister. He wasn't a demon, and that thorny vine that had wrapped around his heart and squeezed until he tried to redeem himself through death had no right to be there. His death would be pointless- simply a waste of life.

Suddenly, it was like all her bitterness and her frustration and misdirected hate burned away, and there was a flux of worry. Of flailing panic and stabbing fear. He didn't have a chance. She remembered the night of the attack, the siege of the Glass City. Recalled the empty house and the shadows playing on the walls, the airs baited breath. Sebastian (really Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern) had slunk through the darkness like a cat, silent and lithe, and she hadn't seen him coming. _She _hadn't been able to foresee him, and she was one of the best, an expert at stalking prey. And Jace...

Jace was brilliant, that was undeniable. He was one of the best, on par with the older Shadowhunters, but he was still a just a boy, in so many ways. He was off on a mission that could only get him killed, busily cocooned in a shell of misery and dead ends. He had to know. She had to tell him. She wasn't quite sure what she was to him- sister or friend or partner- but she knew what he was to her, and he didn't deserve death and ignorance. Her hand slipped into her pocket, fingers cupping the figure and her thumb tracing the familiar bumps and gloss of the old tarnished soldier figurine. Max had had it in his hand when he died. Jace had had it in his hand when he was shipped away from all he had known and loved, and he had had it first. Her mind didn't race- more like one thought shot through the silence, and echoed, and then she moving, breaking into a run.

Her room looked like it had been hit by a hurricane by the time she was done- piles of clothes and trinkets swept off the surfaces, the scenery occasionally spiced up by a snatch of broken chair leg. She didn't care- she never was very tidy. All that mattered was that her quick fingers snagged on the correct instruments- knives and boots and clothes and her whip. Isabelle remembered stripping, pulling off her clothes fast and picking up fresh ones, and she didn't remember re-dressing. It was as though she were shedding her skin, and all the pointless, heavy emotions. Instead her blood buzzed quietly, rushing through her veins on an electric current, and her feelings seemed to stretch out, spread and move with purpose. Everything was sharpened to a knife's point, and she found herself more focused than ever, moving swiftly but barely registering her legs moving, her hand gliding to the doorknob and letting herself out. She was almost surprised when she was standing beside Magnus Bane and reaching out to tap his shoulder, when she hadn't really noticed the lapse of time, or really ordered herself to approach him.

The soldier toy had been shoved in his face almost as soon as he turned, and her voice was low and fast as a slight smile played along her mouth. Alec, she had told him, asked him to track Jace for her, pretty please? He'd agreed, and Isabelle felt only a little bit guilty about it before her determination kicked back in.

Within half an hour, she had Jace pinpointed- he was moving through the wooded areas outside Idris, and some interference with Magnus's spell showed that he too was tracking somebody, the two spells signals meeting and crackling and carrying across to Magnus like white noise. She was out of there in moments, a hasty good bye tossed over her shoulder before she eyed a lone horse studying it's hooves from a spot on the road. A stroke of luck, some might say. She didn't hesitate to take it, sliding onto the horse and urging it forward. A lot of things had been stolen during the siege- she doubted one horse would be missed too much. It wasn't like she planned to kill it.

Hours later and the sun had almost finished its cycle for the day, the shadows elongating and thickening, coiling around her ankles like heavy mist as she walked through the forest. She had had to abandon the horse when the grasses had grown wilder and the space between trees became narrower. She felt bad enough for stealing it and she's rather not let it be injured too. The last she had seen of the horse, it had been waiting patiently by a tree, unmoved by the deepening twilight and its lack of company.

Clouds shifted through a sky that was painted indigo. Night had set, and the back of her neck prickled as her eyes suddenly buzzed with energy. Everything seemed tense and slowed down- the breeze whipped past languidly and the rustling branches sounded like they were yawning. With the fallen night, her senses heightened and her heartbeat slowed, her breath and her blood becoming more still and measured. She was a hunter now, sharp eyes tracing the ground for clues, for signs of a struggle or her injured friend. Tracking was as natural as wielding her whip, easy as applying eye shadow. All skills she had mastered over the years.

It was a cold wind that carried voices, one low and venomous and the other cracked, like a broken flute. The blood crawled faster below her skin and her hackles raised. She swirled where she stood, searching out the sounds, taking off in a vague direction uncertainly. That's when she heard the screams. Jace's screams.

It was like thunder, instant and powerful and reverberating through her head. She leapt into action, breaking into a run with a fluid, decisive motion. The sound of Jace's agony cracked across her mind and her thoughts were cut loose, falling away. She wasn't sure what made her heart pound and vision haze the most- that her friend was in pain, or that her brothers murderer was the tormentor, that the one who had killed her brother Max was standing above Jace with a knife held in his hand, dripping with blood.

She broke into the clearing, and the scene seeped through her eyes, straight into her mind and memories, vividly, permanently. The picture was frozen into place, and it was one of those things you remember perfectly, as though time has stilled, allowing you to capture every second and detail with all of your senses. Jace lay sprawled across the ground, his shirt torn and weeping red and his face twisted, as thought struggling to decide between the urge to smirk manically, defiantly, or to contort and show all the pain. A white haired figure leaned over him, the moonlight illuminating him in strips and strands, picking out the globs of splattered blood in his hair, smeared against his skin. His hand was looped around a knife which gleamed black with blood, and it was angled to descend, slanted to pierce Jace's heart. There was a smile of rage and madness stretched across Sebastian's face- Sebastian. Isabelle's heartbeat drummed, louder and louder, and she shot out from the spot where she had been caught between cover and clearing. The world painted itself into a picture of blacks and whites and greys, with only a flash of shimmering gold as her whip flew out from her side, and lanced through the air.

There was satisfying tug as it enfolded Sebastian's arm in a perfect loop, tightening gladly and pulling through flesh and blood. His captured arm fell off, dropped with a quiet thud, and Isabelle skidded to a halt as she shifted, preparing the next attack. His eyes and mouth seemed to drop open with shock, and Isabelle felt a flash of fury, remembering the look that was frozen onto Max's face when she had stumbled onto his cooling corpse. She would not forgive him- not for that.

She pulled her torso back, kneeling down as she did so and sending her whip out in a wide arc with an effortless swing of her arm. As _easy as breathing_. A vicious, lupine grin trembled at the edges of her lips as she watched the golden streak sail through the air, lash against the skin of Sebastian's back and bite into the flesh. His scream spoke of agony, and she felt only more vicious pleasure winding its way up her spine. He half stumbled to face her, mouth closing and eyebrows curving angrily as he drank in the sight of her, eyes glowing fiercely and whip in hand. Fear danced across his face.

"This," she snarled, "is for Max, you bastard."

Then she dashed forward again, this time her spare hand clutching at a dagger and sweeping outwards with it, the metal catching the moonlight and glittering like teardrops. She moved fast, and the dagger almost spun out of her grasp as it dragged through skin and blood. Her attack had left her left side wide open, and Sebastian seized her left arm with his remaining hand, twisting it and sending her flying, tumbling head over heels. By chance her whip had tangled around his leg and he almost fell as he retreated. He quickly managed to free himself, ducking below the foliage and out of sight.

It wasn't over. Isabelle rolled onto her back and pulled herself into a crouch, knowing that this was far from finished. Neither would finish with the other until their last drop of blood was spilt- that was the nature of revenge. Just across from her a head of black and gold gleamed weakly, and her heart missed a beat as she remembered Jace. He was lying across from her, clearly punctured a few times, but still conscious. His eyes trained on her and spoke of something like fear, not of her but for her. The blinking eyelashes seemed to be encouraging her to run away. She gritted her teeth and ignored the signal, the nerves of her back clenching at the realisation they were vulnerable as she turned to tend to her friend.

"He's not your father," Isabelle breathed as she leaned over him, pushing her stele into his hand. "Valentine. You're not his son- Sebastian," it took her two hurried tries to say the name, "Sebastian is. Just know that Clary isn't, she's not your sister, I mean, I knew you'd want to know that, just because. You have to hurry. Heal yourself and go-" She never finished her sentence because that was when a rush of air announced a body sailing towards her from the trees. Isabelle made to dodge, trying to move her body faster, but she only half managed. His foot clipped her side painfully, knocking her a disproportionally far distance. That was when she knew she was in deep trouble.

Behind her Sebastian had landed, was already twirling to face her, motions graceful and cruel. He was strong- much, much too strong, and far too fast, and Isabelle felt something like dread creep along her arms and chest. She could not win this. Images stirred around the edges of her minds eye (-_Max's face when he was asleep, curled up on the sofa; Jace's yellow eyes wide from the ground; Clary's pointy smile. Shadows in the living room, a taunting mocking voice. Max dead, Max with eyes wide and mouth open in a soundless scream; the toy soldier hidden in her pocket_-) and desperation sparked. She had to win this. Isabelle sucked in a breath and twisted, trying to roll to her feet. He was too swift, foot already striking her again and shoving her backwards.

_No_ no **no**. She managed to drag along the ground so she landed spread eagled, and her fingers ripped through the ground, scooped up loose soil. Pulling her stomach muscles painfully, she flipped to her feet successfully this time, meeting him almost instantly. Her hand pushed forwards and her fist snapped open, the dirt springing out of her palm and spreading into his eyes. It hurt- she knew because he swore violently- and he staggered backwards, his fist colliding with her cheekbone as he did so. Pain radiated across her face, and she swivelled, barely not falling over.

Sebastian recovered quickly, but Isabelle recovered faster. Her feet spread themselves wide and dug into the ground as she jumped, hands outstretched, reaching for his shoulders. She made contact, but he was alert again, ready for her. He grabbed her wrists and turned rapidly in a move designed to make her fall over his ankles. It only half worked; she had a grip of his shoulder bones, and she clung on tightly, ripping him towards her with as much strength as she could muster as they twisted. He was pulled to the ground with her, a deliberate shove from Isabelle making him topple over her ankles as they rolled.

_Now_, she thought, _it was over_. Her hand reached into her pocket, fingers enclosing the wooden figurine while they were still moving. She pulled it out of her pocket, curled her fist around it and felt it dig into her palm. Sebastian had caught a root, snagged and used it as leverage to end the spin cycle and pin her down. His open palm smacked across her face, stinging and eliciting a cry from her, making her eyes water. His black eyes bored into her.

"You stupid, _stupid_ girl." He seemed to almost put pity in the words, studying her face carefully as his hands opened and reached for her throat. Her face contorted with wraith.

"No, you bastard," she hissed, before forcing her torso and arms up in sudden spurt of strength and adrenaline, pushing against him and pushing him over, so now she was perched on top of him. Her right fist darted to his throat, striking the bony flesh there harshly, and his mouth opened in a snarl or a gasp-

-she wouldn't ever know, because she chose that moment to let her other hand to descend, open, revealing the toy soldier within. It buried itself into the side of Sebastian's neck, neither bending nor snapping, but holding firm as a sword. Her window of opportunity was small: both of her now free hands soared down, wrapping around his bloodied neck and squeezing. Her arms shook, and she pulled his neck up before slamming it against the ground again and again. She sobbed as his eyes went glassy and the bone fractured between her fingers, and she did not stop sobbing until her fingers unclenched and she leaned away long from the body, putting her head in her hands to confirm that she wasn't crying.

She was shivering as she reached out and plucked the gory soldier from the jagged wound in Sebastian's neck, rolling the figurine between her fingers, making them slick with blood. She felt hollow, dull, nothing but a shell of what she had been. Her hair had came down during the fight, hung in front of her eyes, the black tendrils swaying hypnotically. She watched them, unsure what to do now she had killed her brother's murderer.

"Isabelle?" It was Jace. She turned slowly in response to the tentative reminder of his presence. Jace had gotten to his feet, walked over to her rigidly. He had picked up the dagger from the ground, she saw, and her stele was in his belt. She smiled brokenly and victoriously, gesturing at the body she was sitting beside.

"He's dead." She said. "I won." She paused then, as though mulling over the statement, before raising her head haughtily and meeting Jace's eye. "I beat him. For Max."

"I know," he said gently. His face softened a bit, but not much. Isabelle stumbled to her feet, soldier in hand again.

"Here, take this," she thrust the little soldier in his hand, cupping his hand and forcing him to wrap his fist around it. "It was yours first. You have- you have to stop him." She tilted her head towards the man she just killed. "Please go and stop him." She was shivering again, and her eyes were too bright- tearfully bright. Jace looked unsure, regarding her with concern and caution and worry. She straightened, reached up and shoved him.

"I said go!" she cried. "Only you can!" His face went as white as a sheet, and he went up to her, pressed his hand to the side of her face before letting go and turning away. Isabelle stared after him, whispering "please, hurry..."

"I will." Jace's footsteps faded from the clearing and he started to jog, disappearing into the trees.

Shifting awkwardly, Isabelle's gaze shifted to the corpse, and disgust sprang to life in her gut. Her knuckles trembled violently, and she was glad to feel anything. She approached the body with slow footfalls and a curling lip, and stared down at the empty face of the man who murdered Max. She felt nothing. Not pity or rage or even hatred. The realisation, however, made her jaw clench and her eyes sting. With something resembling anger, she kicked the body, letting it roll into the cold water of the river and drift away. Then she fell to the ground, and she wept.

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Reviews are appreciated.


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